


Namesake

by lavellanpls



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: Protect Clan Lavellan, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavellanpls/pseuds/lavellanpls
Summary: "I'm sure your family's going to love me," Dorian once said.And then one day a letter arrived from Wycome.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because Sophie asked for "pavellan feels," and I am a Monster.

“I’m sure your family’s going to _love_ me,” he once said.

They were still tangled together in bed, morning sun staining the light through the windows pink. It was the first time Dorian had stayed the night. Or…the first time he stayed until the morning, which was a very new experience. He hadn’t expected it to feel so different.

_Good,_ he thought.

Maybe too good.

Lavellan’s arm tightened around him with a rumbling hum of laughter. “You say that like they wouldn’t.”

“Are you joking? The great Inquisitor, _Mariel Lavellan,_ First to his clan and pride of his people—shacking up with a Tevinter _magister,_ of all things.” He tsked. “For shame.”

“No one calls me that,” he said, “and you’re not a magister.”

“No, but it worked better for the point I was trying to make.”

“I’m also not the pride of my people, but thank you, that’s adorable.”

Dorian gave a dismissive _hmph_. He’d have to remember to argue that later. “I suppose at the very least they won’t care about the mage bit. Good to know the South isn’t _completely_ backwards.”

“Well…they have nothing against magic, but you should know the Dalish _detest_ necromancy.”

“…oh.”

“I’m kidding. They don’t give a shit. Would’ve been hilarious, though.”

Dorian rolled his eyes; a motion lost with his back slotted snug against Lavellan’s chest. “Well aren’t you the cleverest.”

“That’s my actual title.” He stretched his arms and fought a yawn. “Riel Lavellan, cleverest of his people.” He settled back, pulled Dorian close and smiled into a lazy kiss at the back of his neck. “How does it feel being involved with the cleverest elf in Thedas? Besides ‘great’ and ‘an honor,’ obviously.”

Dorian felt a lot of things about that. Good things. Perhaps some rather scary things.

Scary, good things.

“Fitting,” he said instead, and was embarrassed of how grateful he was Lavellan couldn’t see his face. He felt far, far too many things about that. “I am, after all, the cleverest human in Thedas.”

“See? Another reason my clan would love you. Maybe we’ll slap some green on you; make you an honorary Lavellan. How do you feel about a whole lot of halla in your future?”

“Would that be my last name, then? _Dorian Lavellan?_ ” He scrunched up his nose. “Has a terrible ring to it. Better not.”

“You know it’s a _clan_ name, and that’s not how it works, right?” He laughed, and Dorian would have said anything to hear that sound again. “Besides. _Riel Pavus_ sounds just as insufferable. Ugh. Awful.”

“Perhaps we should make up something new entirely.”

“We could mash ‘em together. Lavellus. Pavellan.”

“Incredible,” he marveled. “You somehow made them sound even worse.”

He didn’t say it—that wouldn’t have been as funny, would it?—but Dorian rather liked the sound of their names together. He liked a lot of things about them together. Too many good, frightening things.

He stayed the night frequently after that. It felt somehow better every time.

 

* * *

 

Dorian was almost hesitant to admit it. Surely such a daring confession would tempt some cruel twist of fate; a direct challenge to the Maker to prove him wrong. He almost didn’t want to jinx himself. But things were…good. Truly, impossibly _good_. Whatever this was, whatever they’d found—it was new and frightening and at times ill-received, but fate be damned, it was _good_. Dorian had never thought that would happen. There were so many, many things, he thought, that he never expected to happen.

And then one day a letter arrived from Wycome.

Leliana was the one to deliver it. A correspondence from Duke Antoine regarding his promise to aid Clan Lavellan. _“I regret,”_ it began with, and the rest was...

Dorian was in the library when he heard. He had his nose stuck in some trivial book when Vivienne touched a hand to his shoulder and murmured the news in a hushed tone.

“You should speak to the Inquisitor,” she advised, but Dorian did not need to be told that.

_“I regret,”_ it began, _“that my help came too late.”_

Lavellan was in his chambers when he found him. He was on the floor, back pressed against the bed, knees pulled tight to his chest. It was the first time Dorian had ever seen him look small. He didn’t speak—wasn’t sure _how_. He could only kneel beside him, silent, and wait for the crying to stop.

“We were supposed to send allies,” Riel choked out. “Josephine said the Duke would send them. They were supposed to _help_. They were supposed to-” His face crumpled. “Why didn’t they _help?_ ”

“Amatus…” He’d meant to follow it up with an assurance. Something comforting, _anything._ But the words withered in his mouth. Nothing felt right.

“They’re gone. All of them. I was supposed to help them and- They _counted_ on me. I was supposed to _help_.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Dorian assured, but the words only made him cry harder, made his face sink into his folded arms and heave another wracking sob. Unsure what to say, Dorian fell back into agonizing silence. Nothing about this felt right.

“They would have liked you, you know.” He wiped at his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. “My Keeper would have. I wrote to her about you. Before-” He had to stop. “…she was going to write me back. She would have liked you. She was going to write back.”

Dorian still didn’t know what to do. How to _help._

_I’m sorry,_ he thought to say. _My thoughts are with you. It’s alright. Things will get better._

But those were not things Dorian had ever wanted to hear.

“I love you,” he said instead. Words he wished he’d heard more often. “And I’m here. Always.” He embraced him, and felt the violent shake of his shoulders as he held him tight to his chest. Maker, he could never hold him tight enough. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I’m here.”

Riel breathed in; faltered. He never stopped shaking. “Now I really am the cleverest Lavellan,” he said, but the rising hitch toward the end turned the joke into a sob. “I guess I’m the only Lavellan.”

“Don’t get too comfortable with the title yet.” Dorian’s arms tightened around him. “You’ll have to contend with me, won’t you?” He tried to imitate a laugh, but it came out clipped; a hollow huff of sound. “I never did like ‘Pavus’ anyway.”

Riel sniffled. Smiled, although the corners of his lips still trembled. “I thought we decided on Lavellus.”

The soft burst of laughter came easier that time. “Yes,” Dorian conceded. He held tight; would always hold tight, until the day the world stopped spinning and whatever cruel Maker existed called him back to the void. “I suppose we did.”


End file.
